A Silent Suffragette xx One Shot
by nibblexmyxnaan
Summary: This is a Holmes/Watson slah fic. If you're fortunately for you, normal and arent interested in slash and /or offended by it, please dont read. Marys point of view, talking about how she always knew that they were together. Please R


A Silent Suffragette

I

"You are leaving me, Watson." Holmes whispers in a soft voice.

I look at this astounding man and find myself wondering if he even realizes that I am present. I chance a look at John and see that he at least, has the decency to look uncomfortable with what has been said.

"Come off it Holmes! I shan't be but a mere half-hour away! And you know that we shall visit as often as is permitted!" he chuckles awkwardly, his wondrous blue eyes darting between Sherlock and myself.

Holmes continues to push his meal around his plate and I feel my patience wearing thin. I had spent the best part of a day preparing this meal. I had foolishly wanted to impress the man, seeing as our first introductions had been so horrendous. I blushed slightly at the thought of throwing wine into Sherlock's face.

Holmes looks up and undoubtedly notices that my cheeks are flushed. He quirks his eyebrow, his grey eyes boring into me and for a second I feel as if he were searching my soul for some unknown answer that was irritating him. I force myself to keep eye contact with him until finally his eyes glaze over with boredom and he turns his attention back to the mangled meal in front of him.

"Is the venison not to your liking?" I ask as calmly as I can manage.

Holmes picks up a small piece and chews it slowly, his gaze clouded with thought as he ponders his answer. I glance over at Watson who is wearing a look of amused exasperation as he observes his friend. Finally Sherlock swallows and nods slowly.

"It's quite nice, tender and succulent but I have a feeling that it were reheated and that maybe it is not of the highest quality." He says honestly.

I nod and smile. It never ceased to amaze me at how much this man could know.

"You're right. I reheated your meal because you were an hour late and no, it is not the best venison on the market because I simply can't afford to waste money on such luxurious items." I confirmed.

Holmes smiled at me, the first genuine one I suspect that I have ever received from this man.

"But once you have my Watson, I am sure he will buy you the finest of everything." He smirks.

I nod and decide to take his statement as a wish of happiness upon my dear fiancé and myself.

"Thank you." I say graciously, flashing an attractive smile at John.

John returns the gesture but watches Holmes apprehensively. Holmes swallows another mouthful of wine and winks at me.

"That is of course, if he doesn't gamble all your hard earned money away. Too often have I had to foot the entire bill for the rent." He adds.

I choose to ignore this rude comment and continue to chew my meal.

Watson glares at Holmes, a light blush spreading across his face like some rare disease. Holmes notices the filthy look that is being thrown at him and whispers something that I cant quite catch. I watch out of the corner of my eye, as Watson visibly relaxes and adopts a sympathetic expression. I remain silent and try not to hear Mrs. Hudson's words ringing in my ears:

'Excuse me if its not my place to say Miss Mary, but I just thought I'd tell you; you cannot marry one without marrying the other, they're practically married to each other anyway...'

II

The second time I realized that something was out of sorts was a few weeks before our wedding. I had just arrived at Baker Street to collect John for tea with my parents. Mrs. Hudson waved me in with her usual grace and good humour and I walked through the house as though I had been there my entire life, it was so familiar to me.

"I believe he is upstairs with Mr. Holmes, something to do with one of his cases!" she chuckled, rolling her eyes.

I smiled and shook my head.

"God, all they do is work, the pair of them!" I exclaimed.

Mrs. Hudson nodded and laughed good-naturedly.

"Well, at least you'll be separating them for a while. Maybe then poor Mr. Watson will get some peace!" she reasoned.

I shrugged my shoulders and continued up the staircase.

"Who knows if marriage will even bring them apart?" I said a little sourly, even though I had tried my hardest to sound bright and breezy.

Upon my arrival at the top of the stairs I heard the soft sound of classical music. It was beautiful and had a wonderfully calming effect, Mozart I believe it was but of course it could have been Chopin for my knowledge of the classics isn't that extensive.

I made my way towards Mr. Holmes' room, walking briskly as I did not think my parents would be best pleased if John and myself were late, as we usually are.

I pulled the door open and stopped when I saw the scene before me;

John and Sherlock were very slowly and very gracefully waltzing across the cluttered room to the hypnotizing music that the old player was sweetly turning. I couldn't help but feel moved and a tad bit breathless.

John had his arms wrapped around Holmes' narrow shoulders and his head resting by his neck, his face turned inwards. Sherlock's oddly feminine hands were slowly stroking the back of John's neck as he whispered words that I couldn't hear.

I coughed softly and Sherlock's eyes quickly locked mine. For a small moment his porcelain skin paled and he froze. John started to stir so I closed the door smartly but cautious enough so that there was no click of the lock.

I very nearly collapsed against the door but I kept my cool. There was a logical explanation to the sight that had just greeted my eyes; there always was when Sherlock Holmes was involved.

I gave myself a moment to regain some composure and knocked softly before pulling the door open. The scene before me was still of the pair dancing, just nowhere near as intimately. I forced a smile and looked at John in a bemused manner.

"What on earth are you two doing?" I asked, folding my arms across my chest.

John grinned and blushed slightly.

"Holmes was giving me dancing lessons. I have no desire to make a fool of my wife on her wedding day!" he chuckled, planting a soft kiss on my cheek.

Sherlock's eyes met mine once again and we both confirmed the same thing:

He already was.

III

A woman's wedding day is meant to be the best day of her life but I cannot say with complete honesty that I was looking forward to mine as much as I should have been. On my left hand sat a huge diamond that showered rainbows across the room anytime that it caught the light. It was breathtaking and many of my friends were envious of it. But I couldn't help but long for the simple, modest ring that had adorned my finger before John. I couldn't help but think of my deceased beloved. He didn't carry near as much baggage as my delightful John does.

I tied the pearl buttons on the side of my dress and looked at myself in the antique mirror. I looked beautiful, according to the group of ladies that surrounded me, gasping in awe as my curled hair fell over my shoulder. I didn't feel beautiful. I felt nauseous and apprehensive. This grew even more so when there was a light knock on the door and a very ragged looking Mr. Holmes stood before me.

"May I have a moment alone with the bride?" He requested softly.

I nodded and the room vacated instantly. My mother threw me an anxious look but I smiled at her reassuringly. I sighed and turned to Sherlock once we were alone.

"Yes, Mr. Holmes? What's the problem?" I asked, expecting him to confess that he had lost the rings.

Sherlock's eyes flitted all around the room, anywhere but at my face. He looked uncharacteristically nervous and he kept running his lean, nimble fingers through his knotted and matted hair.

"I…good Lord I have no idea where to begin…" he mumbled, his voice much huskier than usual.

My heart skipped a beat. It had to do with John. Had there been some sort of incident? Was he hurt? Was he…dead?

I grabbed Sherlock's arm and looked at him desperately.

"What? Is John alright?" I demanded.

Sherlock watched me with confusion for a moment before he realized that I had jumped to a panicked conclusion.

"Yes, Watson is fine. There hasn't been any accident or anything of that sort." He told me reassuringly.

I sighed with relief and rolled my eyes.

"Well what then?" I asked, relaxing slightly.

Sherlock groaned and leaned against the wall, his grey eyes full of worry and guilt.

"Mary… I have decided that I must tell you this or else I will never fully forgive myself." He announces, his voice a bit stronger.

I nodded cautiously and waited.

"Well…you see…I have developed rather…_odd_…feelings towards our Watson." He says clearly and calmly.

…'Odd feelings?'…'Our Watson?'…

I nod once again and clear my throat.

"Whatever do you mean Mr Holmes?" I whisper, wanting him to admit to this crime fully.

Sherlock nods, knowing instantly what it is I am waiting for.

"I have intimate feelings for John, some may call them illegal feelings but nonetheless they are there and they are strong." He confesses.

My heart sinks and I feel bile burn the back of my throat. This man, this wonderfully intelligent, interesting, handsome, eccentric, extraordinary man, is in love with my husband. I don't stand a chance.

"Does John know?" I ask slowly.

Sherlock once again refuses to look me in the eye and sighs miserably.

"No. Of course not." He lies blatantly.

And I accepted his lie instantly. I wanted to believe him more than anything else in the world.

I smiled and thanked Mr. Holmes and led him to the door. He was just about to depart when he turned to face me once more and looked at me, desperately, hurt clouding his magnificent eyes.

"What do you have that I don't?" he croaks.

I stand still, frozen with horror. How could this man be envious of _me_? He has my John more than I do or will ever have.

Sherlock takes my answer as a refusal to reveal my secrets.

"Mary, please…you have to tell me…" he begs weakly.

I open the door wider, enjoying my small victory over the brilliant Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock hangs his head in defeat and takes his dishevelled self out of the room, leaving me to savour the one deceit that Sherlock Holmes has ever believed:

That John loved me more than him.

IV

The penultimate moment that I realized that my marriage was sham was when what had started off as a seemingly normal day. John and I had enjoyed breakfast together, discussing scandals and some recent findings of Sherlock's about some very important case. It was our morning ritual and I looked forward to it immensely.

The day had progressed like any other day would, with no significant importance. I pottered around the house cleaning and cooking, delighted at the whole domesticity of things. It had been around ten in the night, the cuckoo clock had just announced so when we were interrupted. John and myself were reclining in the sitting room, chatting away effortlessly and swapping stories of our childhood. John was about to tell me another one of his amusing anecdotes when there was loud, incessant knocking on our front door.

"Who could that be?" I marvelled, standing up and heading for the door.

John smiled lazily and shrugged.

"Send them away, I have a good story to divulge!" He chuckled.

I smiled and turned to answer the door. My heart stopped when I saw him.

"Evening." He said with all the dignity he could muster.

I stared at him coldly. I hadn't been forced to deal with Mr. Holmes for about five months. The last time I had seen him was a few days after my wedding and he had the decency to look humiliated.

"Yes?" I asked stonily.

Sherlock ignored the hostility and the lack of warm reception and looked over my shoulder.

"Could I possibly borrow Watson for a few moments?" he asked politely.

I sighed and stepped back so that he could come in. I knew that John would never forgive me if I left Sherlock outside. I called John and he was at my side in a matter of seconds. His face darkened when he saw Holmes however.

"Yes?" He demanded coolly, snaking his arm around my waist.

Sherlock pretended not to notice but I knew that a man with such attention to detail would already be analysing the manner in which we stood and so forth.

"Sorry to bother you but I was wondering if maybe we could have this particular conversation in your study?" he asked with forced nonchalance.

Watson stiffened beside me. I decided to play the perfect housewife and smiled happily.

"Of course. I'll fetch some tea, shall I?" I offered.

John murmured thanks in my ear and followed Sherlock up the stairs. I entered the kitchen and mused the idea of putting something poisonous in Holmes' tea. He would surely notice, being the amazing detective that he is but my God, he would be shocked? Or maybe not. He was always talking about 'expecting the unexpected', which always translated to me, as 'be insanely paranoid, trust no one.'

After about five minutes I made my way up the stairs. I stopped outside the office to put down the tea tray so that I could knock but I froze at the conversation going on inside:

'…For Gods sake Holmes, who on earth do you think you are? Barging into my home at this hour…'

'…Watson, I cannot comprehend what was going in that primitive mind of yours when you decided that…'

'…Oh really, because my mind is anything but 'primitive' when you want me to do some research…'

'…Well, of course I wasn't being literal when I said it…frustrated, it's difficult to remain impartial when…'

'…My wife! What do you propose I do? Throw away my practice and the life that I have promised…'

'…I told you that this would fail miserably…never listen, always think that you know best…dear Watson, I just want to make you…'

'…I am happy…wife and soon children…'

'…Children?…'

'…apologies, I wasn't thinking…didn't mean it…anyway, I doubt children are on the cards as we only…'

"…I don't want to hear of you and Mary's intimate lives…I do not wish to share you with anyone Watson…I realize that you have a public image but…fond of you…'

I stood away from the door after hearing enough. Nausea bubbled in my stomach. I took deep breaths and tried to calm myself. I turned and quickly knocked on the door, opening it slowly to see Sherlock sitting on Watson's desk and Watson standing in front of him. I smiled brightly and set the tea down.

"There. I hope everything's okay." I announced.

John and Sherlock nodded simultaneously but neither could shield the passion and longing in their eyes. I nodded and backed out of the room.

"John I think I shall retire to bed. Don't be too late." I said breezily.

John smiled and winked at me.

"Of course sweetheart. I shan't be half an hour."

"An hour." Sherlock interjected quickly.

John raised an eyebrow and smirked.

"An hour?" he asked, sounding impressed.

Sherlock turned to face me.

"We've got to have a proper regaling of latest events in my case."

John beamed, arousal obvious on his handsome face.

"An hour dearest."

John joined me in bed some three hours later, smelling stale, spent and of the pungent odour of deceit.

V

Finally, the last time I realised that there was something strange about Holmes' and John's relationship was when I had gone North to visit my parents. I had informed John that I would be gone for a week but my trip was cut short due to the fact that my aunt was unwell and my mother had to tend to her immediately, leaving me with no one to talk to so I decided I best head home.

I did not warn John beforehand that I was returning as I had considered my early return as a nice surprise. I arrived at the station at a little past six in the evening. I finished the remainder of my journey in a hansom and was home before the clock struck seven. I slipped my key in the door and entered my home. I smiled at the familiarity of it and felt contented.

I dropped my suitcase by the door and walked into Johns study to find that he wasn't there. I checked the sitting room and the kitchen as well before deciding that he was probably in our bedroom or hadn't arrived home yet.

I snuck up the stairs, glee etched across my face by the thought of John's delighted face when he saw me home so early. No doubt he would whisk me to bed and ravish me with his affections, something he hasn't had the time for recently.

I quirked an eyebrow when I saw our bedroom door was closed and wondered whether he was sleeping or not. I didn't want to wake him, especially if he were exhausted as he so often is.

I tip toed up to the door and froze at the sound of laboured breathing. What on earth was he doing? Was he working out or maybe he was pleasuring himself. I giggled at the thought of his face if I opened the door on that kind of private act…

Feeling mischievous, I flung the door open, a wide smile on my face. My smile soon turned to a look of horror and disbelief.

For there lay my husband, shirtless and trouser less, straddling the infamous Sherlock Holmes, whom was also partially naked, in our martial bed.

"MARY!" John yelled, his blue eyes wide and fearful.

Holmes immediately pushed John off of him and sat up, his arousal obvious in his flimsy undergarment.

I averted my gaze and felt my legs collapse from beneath me.

"How could you?" Was all I could whisper.

John started to answer but I was asking Sherlock, not my husband.

Sherlock shrugged, no guilt in his hardened eyes, no apologies.

"I realized that the only thing that you had was that you were a woman, a gender that John could court publicly without falling prey to scandal and ridicule." He said softly.

My stomach turned as I heard the truth is his words. Holmes wasn't trying to hurt me, not like I had tried to hurt him. He had been honest with me from the beginning.

I turned to look at John whom was sitting ashen faced on the bed, his blue eyes sparkling.

"Mary, my dear, I am so-" he started to gush incessantly but I silenced him with my hand.

"I knew what I was getting into when I married you." I revealed.

John blushed even deeper and opened his mouth to argue but I shook my head.

"John, I shall not abandon you but neither shall I share a bed with you. You may stay in this home but only to keep up this façade of yours. To the public I am your wife, but in reality I have no husband." I said as calmly as I could manage.

John made no argument and fell silent.

Holmes looked at me curiously.

"You are interesting woman." He stated simply.

"And you are a wonderful, intriguing, lunatic of a man and I hope that you manage to keep him as happy as he is now for all of eternity." I announced before flouncing out of the room, tears in my eyes, wondering why I would endure so much pain for these men. And then a realization hit me. It was true what Mrs. Hudson had said before. I do have two husbands; I had married them both so that they could live their wrongly illegal lives in peace.

…Such a pity that I must suffer because of it…


End file.
